


Freak

by TheMsource



Series: Sicko [3]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Creep!Sans - Freeform, Disappointment, Dub/non-con, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Forgiveness, Frisk is messed up, No one can be happy for five minutes, Obsession, Part 3, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is going crazy, Sex, This is still a thing i'm writing why!?, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, sans is gross, sick, what is love?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 20:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20459366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMsource/pseuds/TheMsource
Summary: You still wanted him...the sick demented person you were.Series inspired by KenyaKetchup's Creep





	Freak

**Author's Note:**

> DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE ABOUT FRANS RELATED CONTENT OR ANYTHING IMPLYING UNDERAGE LUST
> 
> Yep a part 3...
> 
> I should be updating my other _healthier_ works but here we are!

You sipped your coffee as you watched Sans pull out toast for the both of you, his movements slow and carefree as he hummed. It made you smile widely as he shuffled over to pull out some butter from the fridge, it’s light making the subtle shimmer of his magic coating his skull glow almost ethereally.

He was so _handsome_. 

It made your heart skip as he placed your toast in front of you before taking his seat, a tired yawn coming out before he took the drink you had prepared and sipped it. You couldn’t help but stare as he almost robotically began to spread some of the butter on his food, his sockets lidded so heavily they might close at any second.

It was _adorable_.

His morning face was absolutely _precious_. It made you think, mull over the thought that had been plaguing your mind for the last two months. _Dared_ you risk it? At least _try_ for something better, deserve to be given the chance? You were honestly terrified and repulsed by how badly you wanted it but similarly enticed and excited about the notion. You wanted to see that morning face _every day_. Fall asleep beside him _every night_.

Could he want that with you? Even a little? You inhaled silently and held it.

“Move in with me.” You whispered. 

Sans paused, the knife on his bread going still as he slowly looked up at you in confusion. You didn’t hesitate as you repeated yourself. You had waited a year, this was it. You felt safe enough to try and progress the relationship. He had finally started saying your name in bed, had started to actually handle you gently and almost lovingly. He hadn’t come to you about Frisk in _so long_. He had been more concerned about _you_ emotionally, had been so _domestic_. 

He was getting better, he _had_ to be.

Being with you was helping. And what better way to assure a full recovery than to remove the temptation? To have him _close_ and _loved_? Gradually in the growing silence his expression became more alert and awake as he seemed to register your words. 

Sans stared at you as if reading your face, his eyelights searching you intently before slowly lowering his knife and slouching in his chair in thought.

“i can’t just leave paps and frisk like that.” He muttered hesitantly. You gripped your knee beneath the table.

“Sans we’re both adults, it’s normal to think about living together.” He looked conflicted as he peered down at his uneaten food. He’d be lying if he said that it wasn’t _slightly_ tempting, all he ever felt was peace whenever he was over here with you. Everything was _so easy_ and relaxing. Sometimes it was stressful, when he’d catch your disgust and reluctance that still surfaced from time to time.

But he couldn’t _fault_ you for that when it would happen. He knew how _fucked up_ he was but still you tried. Still you smiled and embraced him eagerly. But how could he leave his brother to live by himself? He’d _never_ lived apart from him, the idea almost made him _recoil_. And Frisk--how could he simply walk away from her after how he’d treated her? When he still _loved_ her--

You saw his face twist unpleasantly, his gaze dropped to the table.

You took a breath.

“Listen I know it seems like it’s a lot. But…I want to try for more with you. I know you may not like me—“ Sans’s head shot up as he looked at you incredulously.

“of course I like you y/n i—“ He choked as the words caught in his throat. He almost said something he wasn’t sure was true, something he hadn’t analyzed. It scared him how easy it had almost slipped out from between his teeth.

You noticed, but smiled as you slowly reached a hand over to his and held it. Your thumb rubbing across the back of his metacarpals reassuringly. Sans hadn’t been aware he had started _shaking_, till your subtleness calmed him. You wanted this. You needed this just as much as you knew _he_ did. 

“Then please, think about it. Papyrus is an adult, Frisk…is almost one too. This would be good for you and them. A chance to change, to grow. Please, if not for me…for _yourself_?” Sans was silent as he looked at you, contemplating your words. Could it really be that simple? Removing himself from Frisk and Papyrus so they could heal, better themselves?

The thought that his absence would be best for everyone..._hurt_.

But maybe that’s what they needed--what should’ve happened all along. Papyrus could learn to function by himself like a mature monster and Frisk--she could learn what it would be like to be _normal_ for once. To...date (ugh) and make choices without his constant hovering and--

**You looked so hopeful**. 

All he could see was pure _want_ in your eyes as you looked at him patiently. He used the image you provided him to continue reasoning, going over it thoroughly. He wouldn’t be alone, which was something that absolutely terrified him. He’d have you. It’d be a trade off, to move in with you and away from them. And knowing you as well as he did, you wouldn’t protest if he visited them every now and again. Wouldn’t be jealous or hateful if he dropped in just to check on Frisk, wouldn’t find him _ridiculous_ if he left just to go read to his brother once in a while.

Things he knew that would bother someone else if they were anyone but you.

He couldn’t see a single issue _against_ moving in.

Every thought or reason pointed to going through with it. Sure Paps would miss him but--_Frisk would probably want him gone anyway_. She acted like she wanted him around, but there was still so much _anger_ and _resentment_, and she...well she only threw herself at him a while back because she felt insecure and figured that was the only way to keep him around.

Not because she'd truly wanted him.

Her thinking that way was his fault. She needed to learn that wasn’t how things _worked_\--that wasn’t actual _love_\--tossing your body in exchange for company. Maybe she could learn what love really was--_maybe he could too_.

He could only help by leaving he realized somberly.

Slowly the hand you held shakily turned over, his phalanges interlacing with your fingers and curling. Timidly he looked down at where you held each other, his eyelights brightening. You let out the breath you'd been holding in a gentle sigh of relief. He hadn’t vanished or snapped at you like you thought he would, he was seriously considering it.

And the unpleasantness had also disappeared from his face.

That was all you needed...for now. You felt today was going to be a really good day, you were left feeling excited and lighter than air. You even kissed him with more enthusiasm than you had in a long time before you both left your place, a soft chuckle from him making you blush. You expected the day to go by quickly with how happy you were.

You hadn’t been expecting Frisk to show up at your work.

Frisk sat across from you staring at the glass patio table quietly while you fidgeted in your seat. Clearly what she'd wanted to speak to you about was important enough that she bothered to wait the thirty minutes for you to go on break not long after she'd shown up.

Too bad you knew that the only thing she considered important enough, that she'd come to you about of all people, was Sans.

So It was awkward. You knew Frisk had been trying to tempt Sans for the past year now. So much so that he had started sleeping over with you instead of leaving after a bit of time together. It wouldn't have taken a great deal on Frisk's part to guess it was you Sans had been running off to. It was because of this you found her sudden visit unsettling.

It made you feel slightly guilty and aggravated at the same time. You both had gotten along to a degree, until Sans had come to you barely on the cusp of sanity, talking about _dusting_. The way he had clung to you in his desperation had left you with nightmares.

So Frisk and yourself had admittedly been avoiding each other.

You watched her knead her hands below the table, a nervous tick that made your suspicions rise. You didn’t like this.

“Why you?” She asked gently, her eyes roaming over you. You looked at her conflicted on how to respond or handle this. She was just a kid who had a crush. She didn’t understand the complication of adult relationships, but you did understand how painful heartbreak was regardless of age. Still it didn't make this situation any easier. You shifted in your seat, you were never jealous of Frisk nor bitter about her when it came to Sans. But the look in her eyes made you shiver coldly. Made you acknowledge that she more than likely did feel that way when it came to you and Sans.

“Why do you get to have him and I don’t?” Frisk didn’t understand, couldn’t. Staring at you it was painfully obvious even to her that she’d _look like you_ in a few years if Sans was just patient enough to _wait_. Sadly he was never good at waiting. Frisk knew that and accepted that. But he could have her now, be with her now, so why was he so hung up on you? Why go for someone that _looked_ like her when he could have the _real thing_? Hadn't she made her intent obvious to him by now?

It was moments like this that made Frisk question if Sans still _hated_ her, still blamed her for all of Chara’s actions. She chuckled weakly. But of course he did, Frisk was so sad and glaringly far beneath him in age--he was still _so smart_, caring, so _impressive_. Just as much as he was selfish and a **sadist** she thought bitterly.

She loved him for all that he was, went through so much for him. Put up with all the _punishment and torture_ just to be close to the good in him, worked _so hard_ for him to be somewhat happy with himself.

Why did you have to love him too?

Why would he _choose you_ so easily?

It was like you could see her very thoughts as your expression became empathetic, making Frisk blush in embarrassment the longer your eyes bored into her. You mentally scrambled for something to say.

How were you to reassure and comfort someone with a relationship as twisted as theirs? One that you had been thrusted into the middle of the night you'd opened your door to Sans. You did feel a connection to Frisk, both of you bound by the same monster in a mutated form of companionship and understanding. And that was what was keeping you in your seat, trying to think of a way to prevent this kid from getting hurt further than she was.

At least that was how it felt to you. Frisk was so _young_ still, there shouldn’t have been that kind of bond between you. _Ever_.

“Frisk—“ You began, but she could see the pity; the sympathy in your eyes before you could even finish.

“And don’t say it’s because I’m a kid!” She shouted. You remained silent as she took a shaky breath.

“I’ve loved him for _years_…I’ve fought for him…suffered for him. You have no idea what he’s put me through y/n. What he’s _done_.” You felt your mouth go dry as your heart skipped in dread and growing paranoia.

“I love him, and I know he loves me. So tell me. Why. _You_?” You couldn’t answer. For it wasn't necessarily him choosing you, as it was you choosing him, because you could still see the raw love in his eyes when Frisk was mentioned even casually. You could see it even when his emotions for you were reflected in his eyelights. This poor kid had no idea how messed up and complicated it was. Couldn't see the grey between the black and white.

For some reason it had gone very quiet, despite the autumn wind and rustling of leaves. You could only think over what she’d said..._What he'd done_. You didn’t want to ask but you had to. Even if your very being cried out for you not to. You'd honestly thought your fears had been laid to rest at Sans's reassurance. But you were sympathetic to the child in front of you, you couldn't her look her statement, attitude or not she didn't deserve to go through any amount of suffering.

Which begged the question, what could Sans have done she'd speak that way?

“Frisk…what do you mean, what he's done?” You asked hollowly. She slowly looked up to meet your eyes. It wasn’t any of your business what their relationship was like, and Frisk felt a fierce urge not to say a _single_ word to you. That it was personally for her and Sans alone to enjoy and despise. To mourn.

But then she saw the hesitancy in your eyes...the **doubt**.

And suddenly it didn’t feel so _difficult_ to make good on that threat she’d shot at Sans all those months ago. If it got you to leave, got her to _keep Sans all to herself_\--she’d never felt so much anger and _jealousy_ since he tried to date the innkeeper Sandy _again_ in his disillusioned bid 'to do the right thing'. 

If Sans left her for you--

Frisk hadn’t felt so **unwanted** by Sans, as she did with you around.

Instead of choosing _MERCY_...Frisk chose FIGHT.

“We’ve **fucked**.” The world shattered, into a monotone of blurred whites and grays, you felt like you were about to vomit. There was a loud ringing in your ears as you remembered clearly the look he had given you, how deep his voice had gone when he’d said _he’d never touched her_\--had he _lied_? 

You felt your body begin to shake as it broke out into a cold sweat. The world was too small, the air too thin.

You were going to pass out, going to _lose_ it as your vision started to tunnel.

And you would have, if not for the sudden looming presence you felt behind you that made you stiffen in your seat. 

Slowly you turned around and came face to face with an absolutely _livid_ Sans, his eyelights locked on the child across from you. You didn’t know his left eye could turn blue and flicker to yellow, nor that the area around you could turn the same color of his magic. You did know that you felt more alert, awake now that he was near you. And _sick, so fucking sick_.

His grin was pure malice. 

Sans should’ve noticed sooner something was amiss when Frisk had left so abruptly, <strike>guiltily</strike>. It wasn’t until he consciously felt for that sick connection between himself and the kid that he became _enraged_. He was pissed that she came to your place of work. There was only one thing he could see his kid, willingly, wanting to drop in on you for.

_To cause fucking problems_. He was going to give her such a **bad time**\--

“You told me you never touched her...” Sans jolted and his eyelight quickly faded back to it’s familiar white as he looked at you. His manic grin slowly turned into a small frown, a sad one.

His sockets flickered over to Frisk and it took _everything_ inside you not to shout for him to look away from her. Slowly his eyelights slid back to you and with how they dimmed you could tell he was reading your emotions plain as day.

Sans felt his soul drop.

“i haven’t.” He muttered softly. You glanced back over at Frisk who had focused her eyes onto the table, her body slightly curled in on itself. You weren’t stupid, you recognized _trauma_ when you saw it.

You looked back up at Sans, your automatic response to spew hate at him but the _vulnerability_ you saw in his expression...called out to the twisted, love struck, fuck up that was your _heart_.

You swallowed.

“You had better explain this. **Now**.” You tried to sound angry, really you _tried_. But your voice _wavered_. Thankfully it still had the effect you wanted; Sans nodded sullenly, his demeanor resigned and then moved over to Frisk.

_You had to hold yourself back from pushing him away from her_.

He gripped the girl's arm, a little too tightly, before they both vanished. You didn't have to wait long before he reappeared not but a few seconds later alone, taking a seat across from you. Sans's hands shoved into the pockets of his signature jacket.

He wanted nothing more than to reset in that moment.

He was visibly shaking; sweat dotting his skull as he focused on the table unable to look at you fully. It was a red flag that made your insides twist. Slowly he took a breath and looked up at you, and all you could see was a dead finality to his gaze. It made something inside you want to _weep_. 

He looked almost as if it was pointless to even be here.

“you won’t believe me…” He whispered. 

That **angered** you.

“_Sans Skeleton_, I have done _much_ for _you_. _Try me_.” You couldn’t help the dry bitterness in your tone, but he didn’t protest. He spoke in a dead monotone as he began to recount the first time he had ever met Frisk, the first _several_ times. 

You didn’t move or react, kept your face deceptively neutral as he talked of _timelines_, of anomalies and _violence_. It took something strong inside you that you didn't even know you had to keep from breaking into ugly sobs at the sorry tale, at how he mentioned he had given into his carnal urges.

You were surprised at how composed you were.

You shocked yourself further by maintaining that calmness when you learned it wasn’t _the one time he had done it_, he had _repeatedly violated_ Frisk. He spewed his reasonings, his thoughts and feelings as to why he had dared to do what he had done. 

Love, Loneliness, a never ending cycle free of repercussions and full of pointlessness that would inevitably get erased. The small part of you that still clung to sanity cried out in injustice, rage and twisted _hatred_.

But then the crazed part of your mind perked up when he mentioned his _regret_, how his view had steadily _changed_, how Sans realized his wrongs fully upon seeing the damage he was doing to her. He still loved her, wanted her, but he had found a _sliver_ of something good still alive inside him and he had clung to like a lifeline. Allowing them the current timeline they lived in.

One where he hadn't metaphorically failed.

It didn’t change what he had done though, could _never_ fix the hurt and pain he had caused.

You recalled his timid smiles, his gentle caresses and sweet wordings. Someone intentionally wanting to be such a heartless beast, wanting to knowingly hurt a child in that way couldn't show such genuine emotion. He was a victim of circumstance and lunacy. Sans could be good, he could be so much _better_ you reasoned even as the inner part of you flooded with **self-disgust**.

**You were excusing a child molester**!

But he had been **forced** into circumstances that would’ve fucked _anyone_ up!

_**Who were you to judge?**_

You couldn’t even fathom living with everyone around you moving in predictable paths, speaking the same things day in and out without pause, not remembering what had happened from one instance to the next. 

You doubted _you_ wouldn’t have spiraled into a deep pit of loneliness and insanity, wouldn’t have _clung_ so greedily to the only soul you knew of that could _understand_ you even if they were merely a child, found companionship and taken it where you thought you could because you _didn’t know_ if you ever would be able to find it elsewhere.

<strike>You wondered just how close your bond was to Frisk and how similar both your perceptions were</strike>.

Sans was silent as you slowly looked up at him, his expression numb and almost dead looking. It was like he had given up, waited for you to pass inevitable judgement and damnation. It made you hurt, ache and--

You still _wanted_ him, the sick demented person you were. 

With that thought you also realized even if you didn’t, if you pushed him _away_ there was literally nowhere else for him to go, no one for him to find solace in _other than Frisk_.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen to him and that poor girl.

You were both locked with each other now, in a purgatory of your own design. If there was _salvation_ for him it was with you, away from his depravity and temptation. As you were his salvation he was equally your plunge into _darkness_. All your morals splintered and fractured to the point you couldn’t recognize or even know who you were anymore.

So long as you had each other, _surely that was a fair exchange_?

“I,” You swallowed trying to dislodge the clog that had formed in your throat. “want you to be completely honest with me.” You almost whispered. Sans’s eyelights brightened fractionally as he focused on you. His hands bunching the inside of his pockets apprehensively.

“If the resets had never happened,” You saw Sans hunch his shoulders. “If you had never felt like Frisk was your only option,” He closed his sockets, as if knowing where this was going. You didn’t like how a feeling of anxiousness radiated off of him, like he knew you wouldn’t like his answer.

“Would you still have tried to hurt Frisk like you did?”

He was quiet, a shameful and perturbed quiet. Sans wanted to say no with all the _anguish_ and _pain_ swirling around inside his soul. But with how gross he was, how _debased_ his mind had become through the years...

He wouldn’t have been shocked if he had anyways. Nothing about his actions _surprised_ him anymore. If he was honest with you...

“i don’t know.” He whispered shakily as he opened his sockets again. You blinked back tears.

“Even if you knew what you know now?” He looked down at the table. The tension stretched between you from seconds into minutes. After what felt like an eternity he refocused on you.

“i…_want_ to believe i wouldn’t. but i’m so _selfish_ y/n...” That was an admittance if anything at all.

You finally broke down, planting your face into your palms as you let out stuttering whimpers and gasping cries. You were a _mad woman_ in love with an equally _mad monster_.

Sans didn’t move or even appear embarrassed by the emotional display, he felt he deserved it, you could tell by how he refused to _look away_ from you. Self-punishment by forcing himself to witness your disappointment, your _literal_ heartbreak. After your throat had gone raw and your tears ran dry you finally looked up at him.

He had his own tear tracks upon his face. He looked so resigned, so broken and empty. So overflowing of self hate.

It made the darkest depths of your being cry out in protectiveness despite the pain threatening to swallow and consume you.

_Yearn for his redemption_.

If he was truly a hopeless cause, an _unfixable_ abomination, he wouldn’t look so damaged. So pathetic.

So tired and worn.

There wasn’t a choice to make, the decision was already out of your own control.

“I want you to move in _tonight_. No waiting.” Sans’s face slowly morphed into one of shock and confusion. He looked so disbelieving. You let him gather his thoughts and waited patiently for him to respond. When he did his voice came out strained and almost hopeful.

“you…still want me to live with you?” Your sanity _shrilly_ cried no, but you forced a smile to cover your acrimony.

“Someone once told me, that he believed anyone could be a good person. If they just try.” Sans smiled with fondness, his eyelights expanding slightly as they filled with brotherly affection.

“that person sounds great.” You hummed thoughtfully as you wiped an eye.

“He is, can cook a mean pasta to.” Sans and you both laughed softly, and you let the fragile moment of geniality settle. Let it soak into you like a balm as you steeled yourself. And then you looked at him seriously.

“Sans…I forgive you.” He looked like you had just kicked him in the proverbial gut. “And I think you want to be better, you’re trying, I see it. This time around you didn’t force yourself on Frisk, and despite how our relationship started...I’ve watched you gradually recover, you actually _look_ at me now.” Sans made a noise somewhere between a whine and a groan at the blatant reminder of his own egoness. At the dredges of his nihilism.

“i’m so _bad_ for you y/n…i’ve used you, treated you like _garbage_. how can you forgive me at all?” He watched your eyes dull as well as shimmer, a contrast of your conflicting thoughts. A visual of your bitter hatred and tender devotion mixed into one.

And then you said the one thing that finally broke him.

“I love you, you want to be better. Isn’t that what matters?” A brief flash of a much younger Frisk crossed his mind. You were so full of kindness and _MERCY_, it made him realize sharply the correlation between the both of you. Though you were both different, you and Frisk had the one thing that _drew_ him—made him **weak**…

Looking at you he felt for the first time like he could be _good_—could be what Frisk _had wanted_ him to be all along—what he should’ve been and—

_You loved him._

<strike>He was such a wretched creature.</strike>

If he knew what was right, dared to be selfless for once in his miserable life.

He’d get as _far away_ from you as he _could_.

He’d do what he _should’ve_ done for Frisk.

But as he had already told you, he was _selfish_, here you were putting it out in the open and laying your emotions down at his very feet. And he knew there was no way he could do the right thing and protect you from him, from _yourself_.

He hadn’t witnessed something so _pure_, so good and _selfless_ since Frisk before he had corroded her with his impatience and greed, and _he wanted it so desperately_. 

<strike>He couldn’t help but to take advantage</strike>.

You didn’t even look bothered by him doing so, it let him deceive himself into thinking you truly _wanted it_.

“i don’t deserve you.” He said, so lowly you had to strain to hear it.

“I know.” You smiled. He snorted.

_You loved him_.

It lit a blossoming warmth in his frigid soul.

He pushed the thought from his mind…

<strike>Of how similarly he was treating you like he had done to Frisk so long ago.</strike>

You both sat together for a while after that, discussing what exactly he had gone through in greater detail, he even went into what his life had been like before the resets. You learned a lot about him you hadn’t ever suspected, and some you had. comedy shows, you could see him doing that rather easily. You hadn't realized he was literally named after the type font. When he mentioned being a scientist? How could someone so smart be so--and he loved astronomy. 

You found that particularly _endearing_. 

You also fought to keep the bile down when you’d learned exactly how old he really was, merely made a joke he thankfully found amusing.

At the end of it all you left feeling slightly better, and Sans left right away to go pack. 

He wasn’t expecting how optimistic Papyrus was to the news...or the way Frisk locked up on the spot.

Today was just awash in unexpected surprises.

His brother looked between the both of them uncertainty as the atmosphere became tense. Sans and Frisk’s gazes locked on the other. You could cut the thickening air with a knife.

“You’re leaving?” Frisk whispered.

Sans didn’t respond, he was still annoyed with her for what she’d attempted to do earlier. He tried not to over analyze the look in her eyes, refused to see it for what it was. Papyrus looked over to Sans, trying to break the awkward standoff currently happening.

“UM, I WISH YOU WELL IN YOUR PACKING BROTHER. I SHALL GO PREPARE A FAREWELL DINNER IN CELEBRATION OF THE GROWTH OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP STATUS.” Sans broke eye contact with Frisk to give his brother a genuine smile, automatically changing the heavy air that had settled into a grateful warmth.

“thanks bro, you’re the best.” Papyrus rolled his eyes as he restrained a smile.

“I AM AWARE.” Sans didn’t even spare Frisk a glance before teleporting straight to his room. He didn’t want to draw this out or make too big of a scene. 

Frisk had other ideas. 

Too consumed with trying to convince Sans not to leave, she missed Papyrus’s sympathetic yet disapproving sockets following her up the stairs. The lanky skeleton sighed before turning to go into the kitchen, secretly happy that Sans was making a wise decision..._for once_.

Sans had barely gotten his blankets into the suitcase when his door swung open, his eyelights rolling in his sockets with annoyance. He didn’t look up as he moved to his dresser, pretended not to feel those eyes on him that made his bones practically rattle. He was _still so angry_ he knew if he snapped---

It wouldn’t be good.

“Sans please, we’ve come so far together and you’re just going to throw it all away? For her?” Frisk asked incredulously. Sans frowned as he dropped his socks into the suitcase, a sneer forming on his face as he turned to glare at Frisk.

“_i’m_ throwing it all away? i did what i was supposed to do this time around!” Sans could only feel the blackest pit of rage burn in his soul as he shot a death glare at the teenager in his doorway. 

How dare she act like he was to blame for this! Like he was committing a crime trying for something normal, something that didn't make him a warped and abhorrent being. How could Frisk act like he was the one who _cheated_, like _he_ betrayed _her_.

“i’ve done right by you for the first time--and you repaid me by acting like such a **fucking brat**! like a slut who can’t keep her damn legs shut! rubbing it in my face practically _every day_! i tried to fool myself thinking it was chara _making_ you do it, but no, it was _your_ choice every time! _honestly_ kid i can’t even see a difference between you and that **freak** any more.” Frisk stumbled back as if he'd physically struck her. She watched with growing dread as he turned back to gathering his clothing, every shirt and pair of shorts he tossed in making her heart break a little more til it felt as if the floor was going to give way beneath her.

Frisk couldn’t lose him, she couldn’t be all alone. He was still her _best friend_, she still _loved_ him more than anything. He had proven he wouldn’t hurt her like he used to. He was getting so much better.

She knew he _loved_ her. 

Even though she still woke up from nightmares she knew would _never_ go away, she still craved his attention and admiration. 

There would be no chance for hand holding or late night cuddling if he left, she had to admit going so long without it for the sake of the timeline...is _why_ she had started doing what she’d done in the first place.

Frisk had thought that by sleeping around Sans would see her as _finally mature_, an adult that he could be with without shame. She’d only slept with those she considered friends, she wasn’t a slut like he thought! After all they were friends and they’d slept together before, right? Wasn’t that how it worked _with grownups_? _Close friendships and casual sex_?

Frisk felt so vexed and...filthy.

Sans had been so clear in past timelines that anything more intimate than that was _immature_ and _unrealistic_ at best. So why was he so angry? Why was he _leaving_ her? She shook as a deep swelling of sadness and agony filled her chest. She could _barely_ breathe! Frisk stumbled irresolutely closer to him, her words coming out rushed and raw.

“I thought...you loved me...” Sans felt his soul shake as he turned to look at her, absolute _guilt_ and _disbelief_ struck him like a blow as he saw the tears running down her face, her arms crossed defensively across her chest. His kid was _bawling_. An it was then he felt all his iniquity and worthlessness bubble up toxicly inside him.

He was angry, pissed but to question if he still loved her?

His kiddo thought _he no longer loved her_. He did, truly he did, more than he _should’ve_. His anger vanished in the wake of the urge to _comfort_. It was automatic as his hands came up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing away the salty trails.

“of course i do sweetie! don't cry, please—“ His words slowly died out, as his thumb twitched and stroked her cheek again, her closed eyes locked on him.

<strike>So warm…</strike>

<strike>Soft…</strike>

He didn’t even notice how his magic instinctively followed in the wake of his touch, light blue pathways grazing her sensitive flesh as if it couldn’t _help_ but to _touch her_. He however _did_ notice how she didn't flinch under his subtle caress.

Wasn’t she still _scared_ of him?

But Frisk wasn’t pulling away, drawing back.

She was _accepting_.

It was then he realized he hadn’t properly _held_ or even _had physical contact_ with her in this timeline. It was that difficult choice that had prevented his downfall--**again**.

His eyelights against his will flickered down to her soft and full pale lips as undone memories stirred his magic. _She nervously licked them_. And it made him lustfully **hungry**.

That subtle weakness, that momentary glance was all Frisk needed to see she _had him_. She lidded her eyes and pointedly locked onto his eyelights, a wave of desirable _intent_ coming off of her and piercing into the monster holding her. Sans quickly withdrew his phalanges as if she’d _burned him_.

“this is better for everyone, for us.” He said with decisiveness as he turned away from her and slammed his suitcase shut, the echo of it making Frisk startle. She looked at him and to the bag in a panic, her heart racing and body trembling. Sans reached for it and Frisk did the only thing she could think of.

She tackled him.

He made a noise of surprise as he fell backwards, Frisk’s body landing atop his as they both crashed onto his bed. Sans made to get up but Frisk was quicker. She scurried up and straddled him, her face moving close to his as her smaller hands pressed into his shoulders. Frisk knew exactly what to do to get him to listen, to stay. It was the one thing that always worked on him.

He began to panic.

Frisk shouldn’t be _touching him_ like this.

Being this close, _stars he was dangerous!_

Sans’s magic _automatically_ flared up. He started to go dizzy under Frisk’s weight positioned _perfectly over his hips_, her hands _gripping his shoulders_ through the thinness of his shirt that his jacket had slid from in their fall.

He clenched at the bed, digging his phalanges into it to prevent from touching her—from _wronging her_. Even as the thoughts and memories of what she could do with those smaller fingers reared their ugly presence into his mind, searing him with a sludge thick **lechery**.

How many times had he _wanted this_ in his sick mind?

How many times had he spent <strike>his magic</strike> just imagining her atop him?

How many times had he _made you_ ride him from above; the light obscuring your face so he could imagine it was _this stubborn teenager_, as your obviously longer hair brushed his face and clavicle.

“frisky, please…” He pleaded with a groan strangled in his throat. It was _too much_, she was _too close_. He could _smell_ her vanilla scented body wash that she bought constantly, could feel how well _her legs folded_ along his femurs, stars he could practically _taste_ her cherry flavored lip balm with how **close her face was**. And he could if he wanted to, he only had to _tilt his head_ and he would be **kissing** her. 

The withered soul that beat in his chest had never wanted so fiercely for her to pin him with a look of _fear_—to visibly cringe or withdraw from him like she had so many times before—Give a sign of her rejection—_why was she doing this_?

Did she want him to suffer? To ache with so much _self-disgust and loathing_ that he’d dust under a passing breeze?

For the first time in a long time he _boiled_ with a _soul deep hatred_ for the **anomaly**—a confusing mixture of _adoration, anger_ and _greed_—this was his _kid_—his _brat_—didn’t she want him to be better? He wanted to be _good, _oh so good_ and _worthy_—_

__

Frisk’s eyes opened, making his soul slam in his chest even as her tears ran down her pale face. The color of them just as **stunning** as the first time he'd seen them.

__

“Don’t leave Sans, please! I’m sorry for everything…just don’t leave me. I love you…I’ll be good please—” Her voice cracked making him shudder with the severe urge to hold her. But if he gave in with the way they were right now, _that hold wouldn’t be platonic_, it wouldn’t be **safe**. He resisted, turning his head slightly to put more distance between their mouths.

__

<strike>Her breath was so warm against his throat.</strike>

__

“i know you do…frisky—“ She wouldn’t let him finish, her anger finally coming forward. He was punishing her, he had to be. Because she had been scarred by what he’d done it had obviously annoyed him to the point he’d gone willingly into another's arms. Because he couldn't _wait_ Sans had turned away from her _so easily_. After _he_ had been the one to _make_ her this way.

__

He could be so loving and good for you but for her—_it killed her inside_.

__

“Then _why_ are you _leaving_?” He pressed his bony lips together as she glared at him accusingly. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. He had taught her love was being _held captive_, having _sex_. 

__

Had he ever taught her what it meant to be _platonic_? What words could he say _now_ to fix that corrupted logic?

__

Frisk brought her hands up and cupped his face, the innocent gesture turning heatedly sexual under his current duress. He couldn’t help the _moan_ that slipped out at the bizarre texture of her palms against him.

__

She smiled as she moved her lips petrifyingly closer, her hot breath _brushing_ him with every word she spoke even as her eyes shook with _desperation_ and _broken_ love.

__

A perverted manic love that he had instilled in her ages ago.

__

He was lower than **scum**.

__

“Don’t leave me Sans. I’ll be good! I _promise_. Remember _all the times we were together_? Remember what I can do for you? I’ll—do _anything please_!” _His poor, lonely kid_. Her words horrified him, made his soul clench painfully. He wanted to protest, to tell her she was _good_, that this wasn’t about _them_—but she pressed her _mouth_ to his and his **mind locked**.

__

His _beautiful angel was kissing him_.

__

**Willingly**.

__

It was _all_ he had ever _wanted_.

__

His sockets slowly slid shut as his mouth moved with hers, supple pink flesh molding with his flexible yet grueling magical bone. The thought of how he had _fractured_ her, tainted her, roaring in his mind.

__

Killing what little pipe dream of peace you had cultivated in him resentfully.

__

Through it all he finally realized there was no _hope_ for her, for _him_. No matter how much he tried to be good, to repent, the irreversible damage had already been done. Even though it had never happened, it still had.

__

He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, couldn’t recall the _point_ in having tried to begin with.

__

After all, hadn’t he used to tell his Frisky all the time that everything still happened, regardless of timelines being undone? That the nightmares would never go away because they were still _valid_, were still real to a degree?

__

<strike>When he couldn’t help how stiff it made his cock to imagine hurting her.</strike>

__

And he felt himself _slipping_, into the monster he used to be timelines ago—all he had ever wanted was for it to be _consensual_—for her to _want_ him as much as _he_ wanted _her_—

__

And he knew, he _knew_ it was _wrong_—but she was _against_ him—she was _willing_—but she didn’t know better even now because he knew he had _fucked her_ up long ago—she was only doing this out of a childish fear of losing him—

__

<strike>She sucked let his tongue into her mouth.</strike>

__

Stars it felt like _MERCY_—frisk hadn’t shown him that in _years_—_finally_ after so long she was granting him a _glimpse_ of everything he had ever wanted—and he _could have it_—her _beneath_ him—wrapped **around** him—

__

**So easily.**

__

_“If it hurt you, it matters.”_

__

His sockets shot open as his mind went to you and he silently screamed in abject horror as reality hit him like a brick wall.

__

You were _waiting_ for him—he had an _adult_, someone who _loved_ him—_waiting_—who _forgave_ him—**Frisk sighed pleasurably**.

__

_“Move in with me.”_

__

He was sorry—so sorry—

__

_“Sans…I forgive you.”_

__

He felt his soul crack as he realized the words he'd almost said that morning...

__

How true they were...

__

_“I love you, you want to be better. Isn’t that what matters?”_

__

…he loved you too.

__

The fact he thought of you even beneath the one he had craved most _shook_ him. He remembered a time he had been so thoroughly _convinced_ there would never be anyone for him besides _Frisk_—no one who could _understand_—could empathize with his suffering—could set his bones alight with blistering _lava_ and magic _surging so quickly through his pelvis_—

__

And even now that thought clung to him like a disease.

__

He _tried_—for _you_—for _Frisk_—he tried to reach into himself for that tiny spark of _resolve_ that had stopped Frisk’s advancements in the living room—all he needed was to be _strong_ for fucking **once**—act like he _should’ve_—

__

He _forced_ their mouths apart, panted desperately for air, for clarity.

__

“frisk—get **off of me**.” He grounded out, using his rage and frustration to sharpen his words. Tried to _ignore_ how deeply his soul pounded in his ribs as he watched a flash of hurt cross his sweetheart’s face. She openly glared at him.

__

“It’s too late to try and be a **good** monster.” She whispered emotionlessly.

__

He _seethed_ at her condemning tone(_like that damned freak_)—contemplated _wrapping his hand_ around her _throat_—_fucking her regardless just to purge that nasty **attitude** out of her_—make her apologize, _beg_ for him to stop—

__

Sans froze.

__

It killed whatever strength he’d briefly found, all his rage dissipating in the overwhelming flood of remorse and rancor. Because she was right, what was the point of even trying now? He _hated_ how much warmth enveloped him when she _once more pressed her lips to him_. He hated how he didn’t fight, how he didn’t _want to_.

__

Another part of him died even as he chuckled defeated and bitterly at Frisk’s hands _slipping beneath his shirt_—where was her kindness, her endless well of self-sacrifice—_where had Frisk’s MERCY gone_?

__

It was now that he saw just _how much_ he had screwed her (**ha**) up—how he had turned someone meant to be his _absolution_ into his _condemnation_—he had dared to tell her to be selfish once and now here she was—_acting_ on it— acting _like him_—

__

How long until he tainted and twisted you too?

__

He couldn’t be good for _you_.

__

_Couldn’t be good for his kid_.

__

He and Frisk were too broken, too depraved.

__

_And it was all his own fault._

__

He knew you would end up just as fractured and fucked as they were.

__

<strike>If you weren't already.</strike>

__

Yet still he _craved_ and _wanted_.

__

He should’ve dusted long before he met Frisk.

__

Before he met you.

__

And he _selfishly_ knew even _now_, as he felt his walls crumbling, his being going _weak_—just as weak as _he’d always been_—because _stars_ there was _no strength in his LV tainted soul_—

__

He was _still_ going to go to you and _beg_ for _forgiveness_ and _mercy_—

__

Still going to whisper how much he _loved_ Frisk to her as he _defiled_ her—

__

He didn’t _deserve_ happiness.

__

He didn’t deserve Frisk…

__

…didn’t deserve you.

__

He deserved to **b u r n I n h e l l**.

__

His hands flew to Frisk’s maturing hips and gripped them in a harsh vice, rubbing his phalanges into them and earning a soft and silky _moan_ from Frisk’s _young_ mouth into his.

__

<strike>She felt so good, tasted so delicious.</strike>

__

_He was so sorry._

__

<strike>He was going to enjoy dragging each succulent whimper and sound from this kid.</strike>

__

_y/n…_

__

<strike>Even as he turned and pinned his kid under him, making time freeze as he nipped along her throat.</strike>

__

_He plunged himself right back into the cycle he’d thought he’d managed to break free from._

__

Sans’s suitcase fell from the bed spilling its contents onto the floor, laying forgotten as a cascade of moans and whimpers filled the room.

__

You were watching a movie and glancing at the clock anxiously, worried at how late it was getting when you finally heard knocking at your door. You jumped up and rushed over to it, pausing to smile as you stood next to it like you had so many times before.

__

“Who’s there?” You called playfully. It took a moment for a response, you would have been suspicious if the familiar echoing tone hadn’t sounded so normal and calm.

__

“ya.” You furrowed your brows as you tried to predict the punchline but could only shrug.

__

“Ya who?” A pause.

__

“...i’m just as happy to see you too.” You bit your lip as your heart beat picked up in your chest. Snorting teasingly you opened the door and laid eyes on your handsome skeleton. too busy relishing the sight of him finally being there you missed how his eyelights constricted for a second before brightening. 

__

“Think you’ve used that one before.” Sans shrugged lazily, his ever present smile shifting in the right corner. You didn’t question his unusual quietness. Didn’t think anything of how his slouch was lower than normal.

__

You smiled as Sans came in, so excited to see him you didn’t notice the absence of his suitcase nor the way his grin faltered as he sat on the couch, busy still rushing to get him his coffee. 

__

That had become a thing for your relationship, no matter if you had both just woken up or Sans had just arrived you both started off with a cup of coffee. It was a subtle reminder of when he’d chosen to stay, a clear indication of his willingness to try. It was a symbol of his recovery and yours. It was even the foundation of when you’d both met.

__

It was almost therapeutic how calming making coffee had become to you.

__

As the machine dinged and you poured a cup for him Sans stood and moved over to you.

__

You giggled as you felt his arms wrap around your middle, pleasantly surprised he hadn’t waited for his drink, and turned in his arms to kiss him while offering his mug. 

__

You stopped.

__

His sockets were wide but his eyelights were hard, distant.

__

Sans's smile was replaced with a closed line.

__

_You hadn’t seen that look in a year_.

__

What had happened? You were vaguely aware you had dropped what you were holding, the shattering and spilling of the dark liquid ignored as you both stared at each other. Growing dread and fear building in you.

__

Sans didn't falter.

__

He shakily pulled you closer to him and slowly led you to the bedroom where he fell into bed with you, his form hovering above you menacingly. It felt dark and suffocating. You had gotten used to feeling excited and giddy, that your heart sank to see his defeated and subdued expression.

__

Almost **deranged** in its sadness.

__

“_i’m sorry y/n_.” He croaked brokenly. You didn’t understand. What had _happened_? Why was he acting like your whole relationship hadn’t ever occurred? Like he hadn’t spent a year in your arms recovering--

__

**_Why was he apologizing_**?

__

You were so shocked and confused you barely felt him lean onto you and nuzzle against your throat, the affectionate gesture becoming _tainted_ as your whole body went cold.

__

Anxiety spiked through you.

__

_Please no…_

__

_Don’t let it be what you thought it was…_

__

“so _sorry_. i just—i _need_ you—_please_ i—_y/n_...” He groaned as he pressed kisses along your throat, his hands moving to disrobe you and trail tenderly along your body. You arched instinctively in his hold and felt nauseous as he kept muttering your name and gentle apologies. His hold becoming harsh as he pawed and dragged hard bone along your skin. It was scarily _familiar_ the way he was acting.

__

You hissed as he bit into your shoulder without warning right before he pushed into you. The harsh clamp of his teeth dulling any pleasure you would’ve felt at your union. There was pain, there was anger. For the first time it wasn’t just from him as he began to thrust, but from you.

__

“i _love_ you y/n…forgive me…” He whispered while licking along his teeth marks, withdrawing an _unwilling_ moan from you. It was as if that small sound was all he _needed_. Like it had been a silent acceptance of his sorrow. His pace quickly became _violent_, his groans deafening you as he _jerked_ your arms forcibly above your head.

__

_You couldn’t recognize him as a cruel and sadistic smile curved under the _haunted and conflicted_ look in his pitch _black_ sockets._

__

There was no warmth, no subtle closeness that you had come to enjoy. All you could feel was a desperate indifference tinged with the need to hurt.

__

You closed your eyes as a weak sob slipped out. Tried to ignore how it _excited_ him further. Sans kept _uttering your name_ as he moved, your skin crawling as his phalanges pitilessly dug into you, usually delicate welts becoming instead savage lines of _crimson_.

__

He was fucking to forget.

__

He was riding you like he would whenever Frisk had hurt him but more viciously. Hopelessly. You realized that this time it was _you_. He was imagining you, acting like you weren’t even there as he pictured you. Even as he _growled and spat obscenities_ at himself. Degraded the both of you all at once.

__

“you feel **so good**—_i don’t deserve you_—**fuck**! Just laying _there_ and **taking it**—_you’re so beautiful_—i’m so _fucking_ **pathetic and nasty**—”

__

There was only one reason you could think of as for why he’d have to imagine you _happy_ beneath him. Why he couldn't bring himself to make you legitimately feel that way. Why he’d curse himself and the very essence of his existence.

__

Act like something had _snapped_ inside of him.

__

Why he’d break into stuttering sobs and force his pace to briefly slow as he muttered _weak confessions of love and devotion_. Before jarring you by becoming rough and hateful again, damning you for false hope, cursing himself for _weakness_.

__

**_Despising Frisk for being a temptation_**.

__

You shut your eyes as the tears ran down your face in torrents.

__

Felt your heart break in a way it had yet to do.

__

This shouldn’t have happened. This also shouldn’t have been the thing to prompt him to _confess_ to you.

__

It shouldn’t have taken him completely _breaking_ you to earn an empty and bitter declaration of _love_.

__

Your heart betrayed you by fluttering as Sans _noticed your tears_, his sockets widening as his thrusts suddenly halted. He looked as if he wanted to reach out and cup your face, his hand briefly coming up only to stop a hair's breath from it.

__

And all he could see in that moment was Frisk—You pinned against a sharp and rocky cave floor, bleeding and begging for him to stop. Both of your hearts and dreams dissolving beneath him in a pit of despair and loss even as his temporary lust and desire was quelled.

__

Hate, so much hate, vitriol and rancor and—

__

He ruined and destroyed everything he ever touched.

__

Ever wanted.

__

Just as his dreams of Frisk in a wedding dress, of starting a family with him had vanished so to did the dreams of you begin to fade. You huddled with him on snowy days, the both of you traveling and joking as the days passed you by, cups of coffee and horrible movies you'd both waste time on. 

__

_He was repeating his wrongs_.

__

He was sabotaging himself, _again_.

__

It was like the idea of happiness repulsed him and he couldn’t help but to **eviscerate** it.

__

_He was worse than a sadist_.

__

<strike> **Sans was a freak.** </strike>

__

Slowly his face crumbled and a soul rendering keen _whine_ slipped out of him that was so _ugly and disgusting_ to hear—

__

You slipped your hands from his slackened hold and **embraced** him. 

__

_Against everything you were_ you _embraced him_. 

__

Sans’s sockets went wide as he looked at you, his eyelights focusing back on the mattress beneath you as he felt for the mercy he knew you possessed in your arms. And he found it. His shaking hands both moved to frame your face as he pulled back enough to _kiss_ you—the love and the utter enrapture under all the sorrow and guilt flooded you and—and he picked his thrusting back up.

__

He buried his face into the crook of your neck, squeezed his sockets shut as he gave in and drowned himself in the mind numbing whirlpool that was his lustful sin and debauchery. Anything to bury the feelings of failure and worthlessness, to ignore the torment he was committing, the loss he had inevitably created.

__

Your eyes went to the ceiling even as a flood of shame burned you.

__

You laid there and let him _use you_.

__

You didn’t fight...

__

You were already dead inside.

__

You were just as _sick as him when you came_.

__

You even pathetically let him finish long after having detached from reality.

__

**Author's Note:**

> UGH my head--it hurt writing this.
> 
> Things will only get worse from here.
> 
> Hope you...could finish it?


End file.
